


That’s a Nice Desk

by ds9trekkie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Boys Kissing, Brothers, Claiming, Cockwarming, Confessions, Corny, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Established Dean Smith/Sam Wesson, Fluff, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Incest, Kissing, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Love, M/M, Making Love, One Shot, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sappy Ending, Sibling Incest, Smut, Swesson, Top Dean, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Unsafe Sex, Wincest - Freeform, desk kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ds9trekkie/pseuds/ds9trekkie
Summary: What if Dean had accepted Zachariah’s offer for more money and a lifetime sentence of corporate douchebaggery? What if Sam hadn’t smashed up his phone and quit IT Hell? What if it had taken the boys just alittle bit longerto figure it all out?Sam and Dean’s souls are bound through a connection that transcends logic and always beats the odds. Zachariah may have been able to temporarily trick their minds, but he’d never be able to fool their hearts.





	That’s a Nice Desk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayward_Daughter_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Daughter_16/gifts).



> About roughly six months after the original episode. This ended up way sappier than I intended, but then again literally everything I write always does...oh well! Also, I have a major desk kink ^_^ Enjoy!

His brain is numb and his vision blurry.

Sam Wesson is currently staring blankly at his computer screen. The harshly lit letters and numbers becoming more and more meaningless as the minutes pass by. He should have left hours ago, but he's waiting. Waiting for something he's not fully ready to admit to himself yet. Right on cue, his pocket vibrates and his heart starts racing.

Taking a deep breath, Sam stretches his stiff back muscles and pulls out his phone. Just as he expected, more like _hoped_ , it's a message from Dean.

Dean Smith, director of sales and marketing for Sandover Bridge and Iron, a man too good to be true. Sam is terrified of how quickly he's become enrapt with him. He's never seen someone so incredibly beautiful, a god placed here on Earth constructed specifically from Sam's dreams. In fact, sometimes Sam thinks his whole life is just a weird dream. There's no way he got this lucky to find a person who completes him so well. Even more outstanding is that for some strange reason, Dean appears to need Sam with the same level of dangerous desire. And Sam is more than willing to give Dean anything and everything he wants.

DEAN: You still here?

Sam's mouth is suddenly much too dry as he quickly types back his response.

SAM: Yes

DEAN: Good. Finish up and come to my office.

Sam's heart flutters more rapidly than before, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He feels a pathetic sort of relief, all his irrational fears pushed aside. Tomorrow Sam can resume worrying about if maybe one day Dean will be done with him, that maybe one day he'll stop inviting him. 

They’ve fallen into an extremely frustrating routine, one where there’s a lot of fucking and not a lot of acknowledging. Sam didn’t realize there could be someone as bad at talking about their feelings other than himself. 

Sam attempts to text him back, but he's interrupted by a second text from Dean. 

DEAN: Don't keep me waiting.

Sam nearly moans out loud, not that it would have mattered. He's alone. Scrambling to clear his cubicle and shut down his computer, he can't help but feel a little embarrassed. His dick is already perking up. Just the thought of what Dean has planned for him has Sam flushed and breathy. 

There’s a definite disconnect happening within Sam’s psyche, a continual feeling of unexplainable whiplash concerning the concept of reality. However, he doesn’t dwell on the mystery of his ex-girlfriend Madison or any of the other unsettling worries that usually cloud his thoughts these days. Right now, all Sam can think about is Dean and his glorious cock.

~

Sam doesn't knock, entering the office with a sense of ease and familiarity. He's been strictly taught _not_ to lock the door. Although unlikely at this hour, part of the fun is the threat of being caught. 

Dean is looking determinedly downward at the paperwork he's filling out and is seated behind what's obviously a new desk. The thing is gigantic. Solid mahogany, glossy finish, and practically twice the width and height of the old one. Sam gawks at it for a moment, fantasies running rampant through his one track mind.

"That's a nice desk," Sam blurts out awkwardly.

Dean smiles, but doesn't look up as continues his work. Hair combed and slicked to perfection, Dean's sporting a mint green button down shirt with a pair of darker green suspenders. Fuck, Dean makes Sam so hot, like he's always only one minuscule step away from entering a frenzy. He can barely stop himself from squirming, impatient for Dean to take him.

Confusion keeps him in touch with the present situation. Sam is petrified to make the first move, usually Dean gives him some kind of instructions or at least a small clue to as what he wants. Not tonight though, tonight the only sound that fills the room is the scratching of Dean's pen and paper. 

After a couple more beats of blaring silence, Dean finally responds to Sam's presence. Upon eye contact, Sam feels a spike in his confidence. No matter how hard he might try, Dean can't hide his raw adoration for Sam. The look in his eyes says it all. And sometimes it feels like too much. They've only know each other a handful of months, therefore the borderline creepy bond they share doesn't make any sense. Sam's never felt this connected with another individual, however, he's certainly not complaining, it's _exhilarating._

Despite himself, Sam shies away from Dean's gaze. He wishes he could stare back, get lost in the field of green that encompasses Dean's soul. But he can't, it's overwhelming.

As soon as Sam zeroes in on the floor, Dean speaks up, "I bought it for you."

"What?" Sam says automatically, briefly peeking back up.

Dean removes the Bluetooth from his ear and stands up, approaching Sam until he's invading his space. Lifting Sam's chin, Dean forces their eyes together as he clarifies, "The desk...I bought it for you, now put that bag down."

Dean bought this desk for _him?_ Sam feels ridiculously like Dean just proposed to him.

He thinks about Dean’s recent pay raise, about how he’s working himself to death towards an unreachable goal. Sam wishes Dean would have chosen _his_ offer instead, no matter how completely insane or desperate it may have seemed. Hit the road and hunt down more ghosts, because there’s absolutely got to be more out there. They could truly help people and make a difference, share experiences together that money simply can’t buy. He makes the snap decision to swallow these concerns and indulge in his new present, because fuck, if this desk doesn’t look like a _really_ good time.

Almost spastically, Sam tosses the messenger bag he was clutching like a life raft over onto an adjacent chair. Dean slides in closer, hooking his fingers through the belt loops of Sam's khakis. He tugs, bumping their crotches together. 

"Wanna see you underneath it," Dean whispers, his breath warm against Sam's ear, giving him chills. "Would you hide down there like a good boy? Suck my cock during an important meeting?" 

Sam shivers and nods. He closes his eyes and convinces his knees not to give out. Sam imagines it, he could definitely fit down there unseen, there's more than enough room now. 

Dean gently takes Sam's earlobe into his mouth as he continues, "Wanna see you bent over it." Sam's breath hitches when Dean starts sucking, his cock hardening alarmingly fast. Sam sways, feeling dizzy. Dean senses his instability and surges forward, backing Sam up against the wall and locking him in place. "I'd eat that delicious hole of yours during lunch break...would you like that, Sammy? Would you drop your pants and bend over for me?" 

Sam is crumbling, heart pounding in his chest as he wraps his arms around Dean's toned body. He's never liked being called 'Sammy', but from Dean it feels natural, like he's been calling him it for years.

"Yes, sir, please..."

Dean hums in satisfaction at his own preferred nickname and trails more wet kisses down Sam's neck. Sneaky fingers brush teasingly over Sam's nipples through his bright yellow polo. "Wanna see you on top of it, all spread out for me...always look so pretty impaled on my cock." Dean's voice is rough now. He plants his lips onto Sam's collar bone, sucking a bruise just low enough for it to be concealed.

"Dean!" Sam gasps, hips bucking forward involuntarily.

Then Dean stops abruptly, lifting his face so it's inches away from Sam's. Sam doesn't dare blink, breathe, or even think, he just watches Dean in awe, praying that the older man takes mercy on him soon. 

Dean leans forward and kisses him on the mouth, those plump lips overpowering Sam's with a sweet and tender massage. Sam purrs and whimpers, the euphoria of Dean all around him. He's kissed a decent amount of people in his life, but none of them have made Sam want to abandon everything else.

He'd follow Dean anywhere, forever.

"Get under the desk," Dean commands, each powerful word etched against Sam's quivering lips. Sam feels weak as Dean steps back, his body heat ripped away like a bandaid.

Sam wants to scream in frustration, he wants to be fucked _now._ But he also wants Dean in his mouth.

Sam walks to kneel in front of the little safe haven beneath the desk, crawling inside and turning towards Dean with anticipation.

"Look at you, so perfect..." Dean babbles, the statement more to himself than Sam. Sam blushes, licking his lips unconsciously.

Dean sits, the cushy chair sinking down with his weight. He rolls forward a bit, trapping Sam, "Take my cock out."

Sam wastes no time in hastily opening Dean's belt and unfastening his slacks. Once Dean's mostly soft cock is free, Sam freezes, waiting. It takes all of his willpower not to start sucking and seeking Dean's come like it's the elixir of life.

"I have some stuff to finish up. I want you to keep my cock nice and warm while I work, can you do that?" His words are calm and collected, but Sam knows Dean. Internally, he's anything but calm.

"Yes, sir...please." Sam's played with this idea in his head, yearned to hoard Dean inside him in this basic yet undeniably erotic manner.

"Good boy."

Sam blooms under his praise. Dropping his jaw and thrumming with excitement, Sam moves to take Dean into his mouth, however, Dean corrects him, "Eyes up."

Sam cannot physically blush a darker shade of red, looking up as Dean's cock touches his tongue. Both men groan, Dean's hand flying like a magnet into Sam's hair. He pets him soothingly as Sam settles in, engulfing him fully and getting used to the new sensation.

"Fuck, so good," Dean cooes, peeling his eyes away with great difficulty. He removes his hand and proceeds to stick with his original plan of working.

Sam's dick is hard, fucking aching. Down here on his knees, with Dean's cock stuffed in his mouth, it's driving him _crazy._ He breathes as deeply and evenly as he can, getting high off the purity of Dean's scent.

Time is progressing but Sam's brain is on a loop, unable to think about anything but the addictive feeling of Dean filling him up.

Three knocks on the office door are earth shattering, unrivaled anxiety coursing through Sam's veins. Dean tenses, his hand coming to cup Sam's cheek, grounding him.

"Come in," Dean calls easily.

The door creaks open and someone steps in, "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Smith, I just wanted to drop off this report before I leave for my vacation tomorrow." It's a woman's voice, she sounds slightly nervous. More like intimidated.

Sam can't remember a time when he felt an adrenaline rush this intense. And he's killed a _ghost_. Sam wants to test Dean, see how long his fragile sobriety can possibly last. And if Dean gets mad? Well, Sam definitely isn't opposed to Dean's form of punishment.

"Thank you, Evans--"

Dean coughs when Sam applies some suction and begins to slowly bob his head. 

"This looks g-good...heh, great..."

Excess saliva drips down his chin as Dean thickens, Sam's ego skyrocketing. He wants to moan and tell Dean how much he fucking loves his cock, but he has to stay silent. Sam decides to transform all that pent up energy into the best blow job he's ever given. 

"Thank you, sir," the woman retorts. "Well, if that's everything I'm gonna head out."

Jealousy spikes, Sam wishes he was the only person allowed to call Dean 'sir'. Sam picks up the tempo and takes as much of Dean in as he can fit. Recklessly, Sam doesn't stop until Dean's cockhead is banging against the back of his throat.

Dean must be struggling visibly, his length rock hard and leaking. Sam lets out the smallest peep of delight as he drinks down Dean's precome.

"You're good to go, have a nice trip," Dean says much too loudly, probably a combination of losing control and an attempt to hide any more of Sam's guttural noises.

"Thanks again, Mr. Smith, have a great night," she concludes skeptically, the door clicking as she exits.

He's waits approximately fifteen seconds before springing into action. "Jesus fucking Christ, Sam!" Dean growls, hauling Sam up from the floor by his hair. 

Sam can't help but whine, that delicious rip hits his scalp and makes him see stars. He lands in Dean's lap, straddling the chair clumsily. "Greedy little cockwarmer...couldn't fucking wait," Dean snarls, through a brutal kiss that leaves Sam's lips puffier than before.

"Dean, I--"

"Shut up," Dean snaps, biting Sam's bottom lip and holding it steady. His next words are calculated and venomous, "No more talking, you lost that privilege when you decided it was okay to use that whore mouth without permission."

Sam is out of his mind, he almost replies without thinking. Instead, he lets out a broken sob, barely recognizing his own voice. Dean violently maneuvers Sam into position so that he's bent over the side of the desk, knocking over half the knickknacks and paperwork in their path. Sam grabs the edges of the polished wood and holds on for dear life. Dean tears down his pants and boxer briefs with immense strength. Sam's cock, crushed between his stomach and the desk, throbs and dribbles.

Sam's breathing is labored and his pulse tattooing, but he feels _safe._ He knows Dean won't cross the line, won't do anything they both don't want. Sam naively placed his trust in Dean the first time he saw him in a dream and hasn't questioned the decision since.

"You want my cock so bad? Well, you're gonna get it, baby..." Dean works fast, opening a lube packet and smearing it liberally over his fingers. 

He spreads Sam's cheeks apart and circles his rim. Sam cries out, humping the cool surface in order to gain friction for his own neglected cock. He's grateful to be allowed this tiny blip of relief.

Dean's builds up to three fingers inside his hole, prepping him efficiently. Sometimes Dean will tease and draw it out, other time he treats it as necessity.

Dean leans forward, covering Sam's entire back with his broad chest. Pumping in and out, Dean scissors his entrance into submission, getting him nice and open.

"Ready for my cock, Sammy?" Dean husks into his ear.

Sam shudders, deliberately not answering. 

"It's okay, sweetheart, you can answer me. C'mon, Sammy, tell me how much you want it. Beg for it..." Dean say lowly, tickling the base of his neck with his tongue. 

"Yes, please, ready, Dean, fuck me, _please_!" The words topple from his lips, strained and disorganized.

"Mmm, yeah, okay, Sammy, you got it."

Dean extracts his fingers and stands up. Remaining fully clothed, Dean readjusts himself and takes a moment to put on a condom. Sam wiggles impatiently, hating that gaping feeling that signifies Dean's absence.

Sam jumps when he feels the tip of Dean's slick cock nudge him, but immediately relaxes and waits for bliss to consume him.

"Fuuuuck," Dean hisses, burying himself within Sam's warm, wet channel.

Sam will never get enough of Dean inside him, the two men slotting together like they were biologically designed for one another. Like they're the _same._ Sometimes he can't push down the disturbing instinct that they're much more than this. That their souls match in blood and spirit, like _brothers._ But what freaks him out even more is that he doesn't care, Sam's sure he'd be Dean's slut in any universe.

Dean's pace is agonizing, long drags of that huge cock split Sam impossibly wider. He grips Sam's sculpted hipbones as he fucks into him faster, conducting a rhythm that has them both panting.

"Feel good, baby?"

"Yes, sir," Sam croaks, pushing back to meet Dean's thrusts.

"So beautiful, you're so, so beautiful," Dean rambles on, his voice the most wrecked Sam's ever heard. "Wish you were all fucking mine."

Sam swears his heart _hurts,_ the shock of Dean’s admission causing him to reply on impulse, "I am."

Dean falters and ceases his movement, "Turn over." 

Dean pulls out and flips Sam over. "Get this off,” Dean says tugging at his shirt. The juxtaposition of his sudden exuberance makes Sam’s head spin with something almost like fear.

Sam would really love to comply, however his brain feels like mush and his limbs simply won’t function. Impatient, Dean hoists Sam up onto his feet and strips him of his shirt. Finally nude, Dean eyes his prize up and down hungrily. 

Sam is already too fucked out to fully participate, so he goes with it and allows Dean to stand there and devour him. 

Dean breaks the tension by closing the sliver of a gap between them. His hands knead the firm cheeks of Sam's ass and his lips press tender kisses onto his neck. "Don't fucking commit to that lightly."

Sam whines needier than ever, exposing more of his neck for Dean to keep going. "Once you're mine, I won't let you go." He noses along, kissing and licking until their lips reconnect. Dean keeps the kiss brief and chaste. Resting their foreheads together, he admits,"Because goddammit, Sam, you're everything I've ever wanted...and I won't let you go."

The last few words are swimming in vulnerability and Sam can't formulate words to reassure Dean fast enough. He feels lightheaded once he grasps what Dean is implying and Sam wants, no _needs_ the same thing.

It's simple.

"I'm yours, Dean."

Undeniable affection pours out of Dean's eyes as he attempts one last time to find any shadow of a doubt in Sam's pledge. Then he kisses him, _really_ kisses him, like none of the other kisses that came before this meant a damn thing.

"Lay back, spread those legs," Dean orders. Sam obeys, mustering the stamina to kick off his shoes and the heap of crumpled clothing around his ankles. Out of breath and shaking, he presents himself. Dean removes the condom and applies fresh lube to his now naked cock. 

He crawls on top of Sam, causing the laptop and any remaining baubles to skid off the desk and crash to the ground as he reburies himself inside. Sam is vaguely aware of his wrists being pinned above his head, "Dean, Dean...De..."

Sam is delirious and sputtering incoherently, Dean's cock is bare and he's going to come inside him. Sam's wanted this since the beginning, wanted Dean to fill him up, to be internally marked with his claim.

Dean rarely fucks him like this, face to face. Sam’s mentally catalogued every single time it’s happened, each instance bordering on crossing some invisible line that would send them both into unknown emotional territory. But right now makes all of that pale in comparison. Sam’s sure he’s not getting enough oxygen to his brain, his body is frozen in this specific moment, content to perpetually stare up at Dean’s beautiful face.

_A face he’s known his entire life._

A voice in the back of his head continues to taunt him. Sam pushes it away more vehemently than ever before, focusing on the way Dean’s eyes are searching his own.

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah...so good for me,” Dean chants. He looks the way Sam feels, but somehow manages to maintain his dignity.

“My good boy’s gonna let me fill him up?” There’s something warm and bright that threatens to explode from within Sam’s core every time Dean praises him like this. It’s addicting and it’s pure and he knows Dean feels it too. Sam moans louder, briefly thinking with a devious smile about any maintenance personnel still puttering around the hallways. 

Sam feels close, his greedy hole spasming around Dean’s dick with almost too much sensitivity. Dean keeps driving into him, forcing Sam’s prostate to sing with wave after wave of euphoria. The curves of Dean’s soft body molded on top of him verses the hardness of the smooth desk beneath him is invigorating. Sam groans when he feels the sweat forming on his back seep into the wood, christening it.

The tip of his own cock is saturated with precome, begging for Dean’s attention, longing for his powerful hand to wrap around it and grant Sam the permission and release he’s hunting.

“Come for me, Sammy,” Dean demands, followed by a sharp exhale of hot breath against his mouth that fuels Sam with raw vigor. Their energies reverberate back and forth between them, intertwining in an infinite circuit that flows harmoniously. Sam soaks up everything Dean gives him and comes, his cock pulsing divinely the millisecond Dean touches him. He keens and arches his deliciously sore body when he feels Dean’s release coat his insides. Warm and wet Dean feels like _home._

Their panting fades and Dean eventually stops thrusting. Barely allowed a moment of afterglow, the world goes cold and dim.

Then Sam _remembers._

Like poison shooting throughout his nervous system, images of hundreds of different motels surface from the depths of his subconscious. An ancient face of brass rests against Dean’s chest stares back at him with an expression of stoic peace. The heaviness of countless weapons weigh down his calloused hands, all dripping with blood. A pungent aroma of sweat, leather and motor oil fill his nostrils. Angels, demons and monsters far worse than ghosts all really exist and they, _he and Dean,_ they fight them.

Panic begins to rise like bile when Sam remembers one last thing. 

_Death._

It seems that Dean is having a similar sort of horrific epiphany. Sam’s heart breaks when he catches a glimmer of Dean’s composure slipping. He should be allowed to be as afraid as Sam is right now, but instead, Dean does what he’s always done. He plays it tough and takes care of Sam.

Still on top of him, Dean cups the back of Sam’s head and pulls him into a hug, his fingers massaging the back of his scalp, comforting and familiar. 

“Dean.”

“It’s okay, Sammy. I know...”

Sam clings to Dean, struggling through the constriction in his lungs and breathes. They stay like this for a few minutes or maybe it’s only seconds. 

Eventually, the stress dissipates and Sam’s muscles relax as he revels in Dean’s embrace, starting to remember all the _good_ now. He remembers the magic of fireworks and relives the crisp taste of his first beer. An echo of Zeppelin rings through his head while he pictures Dean jamming and smiling in the drivers seat next to him. The real Dean, his big brother, brave and selfless. It all hits him in an avalanche of endless memories, this is who they are.

This is who Sam _wants_ to be.

Sam knows there’s limited time before they’re going to have to pack it up and face confrontation with whatever creature orchestrated this puppet show.

That’s why he needs to tell Dean now, “I’m really gonna miss this stupid desk...”

Dean let’s out a hearty laugh, the sound of it rumbling between them and Sam can’t help but smile because suddenly the world doesn’t seem so dark anymore.


End file.
